


Dreameater

by stardropdream



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-02
Updated: 2014-08-02
Packaged: 2018-02-11 12:36:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2068473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stardropdream/pseuds/stardropdream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur likes to think he isn't too picky about where he and Merlin spend their time, but there's something utterly obnoxious about being underneath Merlin while in his stupid, tiny bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreameater

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt of close quarters, but most specifically "Merlin and Arthur having sex in Merlin's bed and Arthur complaining about it the whole time".

“Why did I think being here was a good idea?” Arthur whines, because, really, he gets being impatient and being unwilling to traverse the length of the castle, but there should be a limit to such things – because this is frankly ridiculous. 

“Nothing’s keeping you here, Sire,” Merlin replies with a very dramatic and unnecessary roll of his eyes, in Arthur’s opinion. 

“Very funny,” he says, dry and brittle, and tugs hard on Merlin’s tunic. “Will you take this off already?” 

Merlin snorts, derisive and perhaps a touch too smug, and makes a show of pulling off his tunic – and then reaches for Arthur’s, undoing his belt with a deft hand but not actually pulling it off for him. “Really, Arthur – you can’t manage this much?” 

“Shut up, just – come here,” Arthur mutters and pulls him in close and kisses him, partly to shut him up and partly because, well, they’ve gone a few minutes without kissing and he _is_ impatient about such things when it suits him. He kisses him, slow and deep, delighting when Merlin makes a happy, distracted murmur and arches into him, kissing him back. 

Feeling he’s properly distracted, Arthur presses Merlin back down onto the bed. And then Merlin does that thing with his tongue that Arthur likes and he groans out quietly, squirming closer and negotiating his way in Merlin’s bed to get properly close to him and not roll off the damn thing – because it’s ridiculously, stupidly small. 

And then Merlin elbows him hard in the gut for his trouble and Arthur groans for an entirely different reason. 

“Oops,” Merlin says, breaking the kiss with a sheepish grin. 

“I’ll show you ‘oops’,” is the retort before Arthur drops his entire weight down onto Merlin and pins him down onto the bed. Merlin makes a soft squeaking sound of protest and squirms, trying to shove Arthur off of him, who merely clings to him. 

“Arthur,” Merlin wheezes, “I can’t breathe.” 

“You deserve this.” 

“The weight is too much! I can’t breathe!” Merlin laughs, groaning out breathlessly. 

“Like hell you can’t,” Arthur snaps back. “I’m not fat.” 

Merlin wheezes, the entire effect ruined, though, as he’s grinning wickedly at Arthur. Arthur does _not_ pout, because that’s hardly a thing he would ever do, but he does glare at Merlin for his general lack of enthusiasm and seriousness, given the situation. 

“I’m leaving if you keep this up,” Arthur says.

“Please do, because then I’ll be able to breathe again,” Merlin laughs, and then yelps out a wheezing cough when Arthur bounces a little just so Merlin can get the full brunt of his weight. 

“Merlin!” he scoffs, loudly, glaring down at him. 

Merlin pushes at his shoulders, laughing still, shaking his head, “Alright, alright, you’ve made your point, Sire.” 

Arthur huffs a little, but also is pacified enough to roll off of Merlin – and nearly off the bed. He curses, scrambling a little, and ends up clinging to Merlin as a result. Which just makes the damn idiot laugh, soft and breathless against his cheek as Merlin holds him back. 

“Having trouble?” he teases.

“This bed is way too small.” 

“You’re the one that shoved me in here,” Merlin points out, the traitor, and Arthur grunts his acknowledgement, squirming and bending awkwardly to remain cuddled up to Merlin without fear of either of them falling from the ridiculously small bed. 

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur mutters, which only makes Merlin laugh and squirm a little so he’s straddling Arthur, leaning down and kissing him – soft and sure, cupping his cheeks and breathing out against his mouth, smiling. Arthur has little choice but to kiss him back, arms snaking around his waist and tethering him to his chest. 

“Insulting your manservant is no way to get him into bed, Sire,” Merlin says, matter-of-fact, when he draws back from the kiss, his touch gentle as he smooths his thumb across Arthur’s jaw. 

“You’re already in bed, you idiot,” Arthur scoffs, leaning into the touch. Merlin rolls his eyes and Arthur tightens his hold on him, just to be safe. “And you’re not going anywhere.” 

“See, you’re the idiot,” Merlin laughs, “You’re complaining about my tiny bed and then say we can’t leave it? Honestly. Cabbage-head.” 

Arthur kisses Merlin in a vain attempt to shut him up, but Merlin only laughs into the kiss, as is his way, mouthing out words happily against his lips. “Your bed is stupid,” Arthur says once he pulls back, “but it will have to do.”

Merlin rolls his eyes again and slides his hands underneath Arthur’s tunic, brushing his hands over his skin and tugging on his breeches entirely too teasingly for Arthur’s tastes. He pouts up at Merlin which only makes the damn bastard laugh. He rocks his hips up a little in an effort to be encouraging, and Merlin merely smiles at him, serene, brushing his hands over his stomach and chest and pushing up his tunic in an agonizingly slow pace. 

Arthur lifts his hand and unknots Merlin’s neckerchief, the fabric rough and worn beneath his fingers, familiar and faded, and it falls away from Merlin’s neck easily once the knot is undone. 

“Mmm, at least you can do that much,” Merlin teases. 

Arthur leans in and presses a single kiss to the hollow of Merlin’s neck and lets his teeth drag, in punishment for the tease, and Merlin sighs out quietly, and then ducks his head, brushing his cheek against Arthur’s as he leans in and kisses his ear, gentle and lingering – Arthur can feel the curve of his smile. 

He pulls back, brushing his nose along Merlin’s jaw, feels the whisper of stubble and presses a kiss to the corner of Merlin’s mouth, intimate and familiar, and Merlin smiles more and parts his lips, leaning in and kissing him – sweet and soothing. For all the bravado, Arthur’s touch now is almost uncertain, a little shy, and he moves against him, kissing him soundly, warm and breathless and Merlin nips at his kisses if only to draw him in closer, to feel Arthur’s responding hum of pleasure. 

Arthur shudders happily when Merlin tugs at his hair, exposes his neck and sucks there, insistent and brazen, and Arthur clings to him in partial surprise, for lack of something else to do. Merlin laughs, deep and amused, and Arthur feels the blush climbing up his neck as Merlin kisses and licks his way down. Arthur remembers himself a moment later and his hands are insistent as they slide underneath Merlin’s tunic, fumbling a little. 

And Merlin chuckles again, pushes away from Arthur long enough to pull off his tunic for him. His hands linger and slide over his chest again, much as it had before, touch dragging and lingering. Arthur leans up, noses against his collarbone and sighs out as he nuzzles against his exposed shoulder, all sharp angles. 

And he shifts up and closer and—

Nearly falls out of the bed for his troubles when his hand slips and he gasps out in surprise and knocks his head down against Merlin’s entirely too firm mattress. “Damn it!” 

And Merlin is laughing, the traitor, and grinning at him. “Having trouble, Sire?” 

“I am going to throw you from this bed,” Arthur whines and tries to shove Merlin off. Merlin makes a soft sound of protest and flops down on top of Arthur, chest to chest, laughing and grinning at him in his victory, even though Merlin is a _stick_ and Arthur could throw him halfway across the room if he really wanted to (or at least off this damn bed). “This is such a stupid bed.” 

“We can’t all have beds fit for a king, Sire,” Merlin says, falsely demure as he smiles at him and kisses his nose. “Don’t get grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Arthur protests, petulant, which only makes Merlin smile at him with that indulgence that makes Arthur feel both hot all over and terribly embarrassed. 

“Perhaps I should take your mind off it?” Merlin asks, composed and frustratingly unruffled. 

“Do something before I – Oh,” Arthur says, breathless, as Merlin rocks forward and the hard outline of his cock slides against his own through their breeches and he hisses out, quietly, “ _Oh._ ” 

Merlin’s eyes are devilishly triumphant. “Like that, Sire?” 

He rocks his hips forward again and this time Arthur has the foresight to roll his hips up to meet him. They set on an unsteady rhythm, rocking against one another, and Arthur holds tight to him, silent at first but then breathing out a breathless moan and rocking his hips hard up against him, seeking that friction. At first Merlin chuckles and Arthur blushes, trying to squirm away while rocking against him, but soon enough Merlin’s laughter gives way to something more breathless, stuttering and sliding across his jaw as he shimmies closer, writhing above him and kissing along his jaw and ear. 

“My back hurts,” Arthur whines as he moves up and kisses him and Merlin laughs, clearly unconcerned that clearly this mattress will cause back problems to even the strongest of men. 

“Hush,” Merlin commands and Arthur can’t help but obey him (although how bitterly he would deny such a thing, should it be pointed out) and arches up against him as Merlin rocks his hips down, slides his cock against his. He’s soon enough making breathless, stuttering sounds of approval as Merlin just rolls his hips up against his steadily. 

And then Merlin’s hands are between them, and he’s undoing the laces of his breeches and drawing them down over his hips, pulling down enough that they settle at mid-thigh and gentle, playful fingertips tease along the length of his cock and Arthur gasps out quietly, arching up and lifting his hips to try to get more of that sweet friction. He shifts up onto his hands to get closer and nearly tumbles off the mattress all over again. 

Merlin grins at him and kisses him, swallowing any complaint he was about to issue before it could be said. He cups Arthur’s cheek, kisses him deeply, his other hand curling around his cock and stroking. 

“Merlin,” he says, breathless and reaching up to hold onto him – and to keep from falling off the goddamn bed. 

They strip each other the rest of the way in a battle of swatting hands (and Merlin’s clucking of his tongue and _My lord, you’re no good at this, let me_ and Arthur’s scandalized squawk of protest). There are complaints of elbows, of sliding along the mattress, of not moving fast enough. When they’re both naked, Arthur stretches out, lets Merlin drape himself over on top of him, their skin touching in every possible place – and Merlin grins at him, happy and wild and indulgent, and kisses him, close-mouthed and hard. 

Merlin rocks down against him and there is a hot drag of skin on skin that catches Arthur’s breath in his throat. There’s a certain imperfection to the way Merlin moves – light and laughter and the haze of lust and desire, diluted by the years they’ve known each other but no less tender and important, and Arthur rises to meet him, arches and squirms and meets Merlin’s smiles with his own, tentative ones, kissing him like he’s just learning to breathe again. 

And then Merlin lifts his hand and strokes at his cock with an expert kind of teasing, the kind that demonstrates just how easily and completely he knows Arthur, knows how to make him come undone. Arthur rocks up encouragingly into the touch, and opens his mouth obediently when Merlin presses his index and middle fingers into his mouth. Arthur licks over the pads of his fingers, dragging at them with his teeth and using his tongue to get them sloppy and slick. He sucks the way he wants Merlin’s mouth around his cock, the way he wants to just arch shamelessly against his lips and tongue. Instead, he just makes a sound that may or may not be a whimper and rocks into the way Merlin’s thumb curls along the head of his cock. 

Still, he knows what’s to come, covets it, really, and so he lifts his knees up and lets them drop open a little – blushing up to his ears and closing his eyes as he licks and kisses around the fingers in his mouth. Merlin, for his part, doesn’t chuckle or laugh like he usually does, and instead just moves closer to him, leans in and kisses the tip of his nose and forehead until Arthur blinks his eyes open and sees Merlin giving him a rather gentle – if soppy – smile. 

He doesn’t break his eye contact with Merlin, no matter how much the urge of his embarrassment goads him to, because he is proud and he won’t back down, even when he feels open and vulnerable and like just breathing funny will send him toppling off the bed. He keeps looking at Merlin even as Merlin draws his fingers back, brings them down to stroke at the sensitive line of skin between his legs, rubbing a little until Arthur lets out an embarrassing, soft little whine from the back of his throat. 

And Merlin smiles at him, warm and indulgent, and says, “Tell me more, Sire.” 

“Shut up, Merlin,” he whispers out, breathless, lifting his hips and arching his back. He tilts himself forward until he feels Merlin’s fingers slide up against him and he bites back a strangled little groan of pleasure from just the tiniest hint of pressure and breech. 

Merlin, the horrible, cruel fool that he is, likes to take his time at this part, maps his lips down over Arthur’s lips and throat and collar, as if he hasn’t seen his naked body so many times from merely dressing him or having him laid out like this. His fingers press but don’t press in, and Arthur moans quietly when Merlin starts working his fingers in small, teasing circles. Arthur makes a soft, demanding sound, inarticulate, and Merlin just grins at him, wicked and cruel. Arthur shimmies his hips, but Merlin keeps doing that slow, gentle circling, his free hand curled lightly around his cock and stroking with an astounding level of nonchalance that Arthur feels he should be vaguely insulted by. 

It isn’t long, though, before Arthur’s patience nearly runs out and he bucks up a little, glaring at Merlin. “Damn it, would you just—”

He pushes a little against Merlin’s shoulder and Merlin laughs and shifts back, but not before his hand slips and he nearly tumbles over and falls sprawled across Arthur, nearly flinging himself off the bed in the process. Arthur lets out a small _oof_ of surprise and then Merlin is giggling, delighted, and rocks shamelessly against Arthur. 

Arthur groans and can’t even summon the energy to be annoyed, and instead ruts up to meet him. They slide and writhe together, cocks sliding together occasionally before Arthur has the common sense to catch them both in his hand and stroke them off in time to their frantic thrusts. Merlin is all smiles and laughter, smiling at him as if he is the sun and the stars at once, and it isn’t long before Arthur’s own frustration melts away in favor of more and he smiles up at Merlin before leaning up to catch his lips in a sweet, open-mouthed kiss. 

And then Merlin, finally, slides one finger into Arthur and Arthur keens quietly, wrapping one leg loosely around Merlin to keep him properly in place. He tenses up a little at first for the intrusion but it’s not long before he’s relaxing and smiling again, looking up at Merlin and finding Merlin smiling back at him, pressing his forehead to his as he rolls his hips a little and strokes his finger into him. 

And then Merlin slides down and away from him and Arthur almost calls him back, almost demands more kisses, but then Merlin’s curling his mouth around the tip of his cock and suckling it in his mouth and Arthur loses all coherent thought. It isn’t long before he’s bucking up into that soft mouth, rocking down hard onto those fingers, and comes with a tiny little moan, fingers curling tight into Merlin’s hair and pulling. 

When he blinks his eyes open again, Merlin is grinning at him, wiping the back of his mouth. “Can’t have you making a mess of my bed, my lord.” 

“ _Mer_ lin,” Arthur says – absolutely _does not_ whine – and yanks him up so he can kiss him, deep and sloppy and tasting himself on Merlin’s tongue. Merlin hums out and rocks against him a little more insistently, his cock sliding against Arthur’s hip. 

Arthur lets him rock against him for a moment before he reaches down and strokes him, quickly, double the pace of Merlin’s rolling hips, with the sole purpose of making Merlin come. He grins at him when Merlin makes a soft, pleased sound. 

“It’ll mess up my sheets,” Merlin mumbles, rocking hard into his hand. 

“You can clean it up later,” Arthur says, feeling sated and smug but not willing to just relax before he gets Merlin to come, too. He drags his thumb over the tip of his cock and watches Merlin’s eyelids flutter as he moans. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says when he comes a few moments later, his breath wisping out into a stuttering gasp as he spills onto Arthur’s hand. He pulls his hand back as Merlin rides out his orgasm and the aftershocks, sliding back against Arthur’s hip and stomach, hands lifting to cling to Arthur, to keep him close. 

“No _Sire_ now, huh?” Arthur asks, feeling smug. 

“Mmmm,” Merlin hums out, slumping over him and nuzzling against his neck, making soft, happy sounds as he wiggles against him, riding out the last aftershocks of his pleasure. “Don’t be smug, my lord.” 

“Hm,” Arthur grunts, and Merlin rolls off of him – and nearly off the bed, were it not for Arthur’s quick action to catch him and drag him to his side. “Ugh,” he says. “This damn bed.” 

Merlin rolls his eyes, looking sleepy and pleased with himself, for all his chastising of Arthur’s smugness. “It served its purpose.” 

“My back is going to be sore for a week,” Arthur whines. 

Merlin rolls his eyes _again_ and it’s a wonder that they haven’t gotten stuck for all the times Merlin deems it necessary to silently (and not-so-silently) judge Arthur and his thoughts. He strokes a hand over Arthur’s chest and cuddles up to him, pillowing his cheek against his shoulder and looking up at him with a small smile. 

“Get me a bigger bed, then,” Merlin says, conversationally. 

“No way,” Arthur replies, somewhat automatically. Merlin just laughs.


End file.
